


you promised yourself (you promised you'd live through this)

by ElasticElla



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/F, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 15:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6158731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She leaves a mostly dead Clary Fairchild on the Hotel Dumort's footsteps and hops on a plane to China.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you promised yourself (you promised you'd live through this)

**Author's Note:**

> for this month's challenge: [heroes vs. villains](http://femslashbb.livejournal.com/12457.html) & [this prompt](http://ladygawain.livejournal.com/83265.html?thread=964929#t964929) at the ficathon
> 
> title from clementine von radics' _there is the worst and then there is more_

Camille is _pissed_. 

At Raphael, at Clary fucking Fairchild, at Magnus, at _herself_ \- because dammit, she was centuries old, she should have seen a foolish little coup brewing months ago. 

It's not that Raphael has taken her coven- she doesn't care much for leading, prefers to live for herself- it's simply that she didn't see it coming. It's the blind eye she turned towards the young one she saved years ago because she was bored. (And maybe she hopes he runs the coven into the ground, she can admit she's petty like that.)

She can still live out her days in luxury, has gold and gems stashed away in every part of the world, and dozens of little plastic cards. But she's bored and angry, and a delightful little taste of revenge is much more to her liking. 

.

She leaves a mostly dead Clary Fairchild on the Hotel Dumort's footsteps and hops on a plane to China. It's been some time since she's seen her sire, and now is as good a time as any. 

(It's tempting to stay for the inevitable fallout, but she likes surviving far too much for that.)

.

Camille lives under the radar for a little over a century. After the first few years, there isn't any more chatter about hunting her, but she's enjoying a solitary vacation in the Nan Mountains. She seduces and sips from fellow travelers, makes up new back stories for herself with every new victim. Some of them might even be true- the older she gets, the harder it is to distinguish between favorite fantasies and memories. 

And then she hears Raphael is dead, and she's curious how else New York has changed. 

.

The city still feels the same, even though the skyline is dramatically different- far taller, glassier, and everything looks brand new. She's pretty sure the feeling is unfounded, the city doesn't even smell the same, but she doesn't mind. The familiarity, phantom or not, is pleasing. 

Her hotel is long gone, a new theater in its wake, and she supposes Raphael never was good with real estate. There's a pretty redhead on the steps, and Camille feels a new smile slide into place- she knew the Fairchild girl was a survivor. 

It takes Clary a few more moments to spot her, and when she does, anger distorts her features beautifully as she spits out an accusatory, “ _You!_ ” 

“Me?” Camille asks, because she can't resist and her gorgeous fledgling stalks closer. 

“I've had to watch my parents, my friends- _everyone_ die because of you! Simon, Isabelle, Jace-”

“I thought one of those was a vampire,” Camille muses, unable to remember which. 

Clary's fist comes up fast, and Camille catches her tiny wrist. “That's a yes then.” 

“You're a _monster_.” 

Camille rolls her eyes, “Give it another few centuries, you'll barely remember their names.” 

Clary looks horrified, and really, she's over a hundred years old, the idea shouldn't shock her so. 

“Besides isn't Magnus still alive? I'd think by now you two would be… besties.” Camille says, inspecting her nails. 

Clary throws up her hands in exasperation, “Oh yes, because I want to be more like my _one living friend_ who's mostly dead inside.” 

Camille smirks, “Darling, I hate to break this to you- but you're already dead.” 

“Ha. Ha,” she says dryly, eyes narrowing. 

Camille supposes she should diffuse the situation before her fledgling does something foolish like challenge her for her honor or some nonsense, but winding up the little red spitfire is the most fun she's had in ages. 

“Well, as delightful as seeing you again is, I'm simply parched.” 

Clary crosses her arms tightly, “And how do I know you're not going to go kill someone?” 

Camille grins, “I suppose you can join me.” 

She glares, but nods slowly. “Just to make sure.” 

“Of course,” Camille says, “late Friday night, plenty of drunk kids with hover-boards, a fresh dinner shouldn't be an issue.” 

Clary doesn't complain when Camille freezes the surrounding mundanes at the nearest accident, plucking the just dead boy off the street. He's stale, his blood is tainted with death and fear, but she's far more focused on Clary's widened pupils. Camille meets her eyes with a bloody smirk, and Clary's gone before she can voice the invitation. 

.

It only takes four months for Clary to take her up on the silent offer. 

Honestly, Camille thought it'd take years and at that was still unlikely. Her anger is all flash no substance, or the substance is no longer worth dwelling on perhaps. Or maybe she's just lonely. Camille doesn't particularly care what it is as long as it keeps benefiting her. 

This time the body comes from a local fire grown out of control. There are burn marks all over, but the woman's neck and shoulders are relatively unscathed. She can see the hesitation in Clary's eyes- the girl _had_ said she only fed on blood bags. So Camille bites open the woman's neck, lets the scent of blood overpower any squeamishness, and Clary's dipped her head before she can add a second bite. 

Clary's eyes close as she feeds, a light moan slipping past her lips. Camille smiles, daintily sips from her side and fights the urge to play with Clary's curls. This is intimate enough, she tells her greed, and her fingers twist into the dead woman's flesh. 

Clary pulls off violently, eyes bright and blood dripping down her face. The body slips, and Clary rushes to her, shoves her up against a scorched wall with wild eyes. It's a forward enough move on Clary's part, and Camille leans in the inch between them to lick a stripe of almost dried blood off her cheek. Clary doesn't move a breath, and Camille licks her lips next, hopeful despite herself. 

Her mouth parts, and Camille never thought a little revenge stunt would taste so glorious. 

(Camille can't wait to introduce her to live blood. She'll have to start slow, terminal patients or something- she's more than up for a challenge.)


End file.
